


Moving Forward

by IndigoNight



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Impotence, M/M, Prostitution, Sex Worker Positive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 21:51:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15495426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoNight/pseuds/IndigoNight
Summary: Merlin's husband is dead, shot in the head by Valentine. It's time, Merlin decides, to finally start to move on... maybe... probably...In the wake of the V-Day Massacre, Eggsy has had a lot of experience with widowers trying to move on.





	Moving Forward

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2018 Kingsman Bang.

Merlin nearly leaves thirteen times in the forty minutes he spends waiting for his guest. 

The boy isn’t late, rather Merlin is excessively early - as is his habit. He had to make certain the apartment is thoroughly clean and ready after all. It is. It’s a spacious ‘modern’ place - sparse minimalist furniture, chrome and glass and smooth faux-leather. It’s as clean and precise as something out of an incredibly impersonal magazine. Which is, of course, the point.

It’s one of many, scattered around the city, around the country, around Europe. Harry had teased Merlin about being paranoid; after all, Kingsman has plenty enough properties all equally well outfitted available for any agent to claim and use at need. Harry hadn’t seen a need for Merlin to maintain his own properties - safe houses, none attached to his actual legal name of course, buried under impenetrable layers of shell corporations and false identities but entirely separate from Kingsman as well as Merlin’s legal identity. Merlin had given up trying to explain it to Harry, instead choosing to accept the label of paranoid and wear it proudly.

And it is only these layers of convoluted anonymity that allowed Merlin to invite his guest here anyway. If he ends up going through with it. He’ll probably sell the apartment tomorrow either way. Just one night, one foolhardy, reckless decision and then he’ll effectively obliterate all evidence of it as though it had never happened. 

Or it just won’t happen. He might not go through with it. He shouldn’t go through with it. He can’t actually call getting himself into this situation a rash decision; he’d half started any number of times in the past few months. He’d opened websites - then immediately obliterated them from his search history. He’d driven just a little too slowly through parts of town where he had no justifiable place to be - the ‘wrong parts’ of town, which in the aftermath of the V-Day Massacre is a description that aptly fits far too much of London these days. But he’d never stopped his car, never done more than take a half-hearted, self-loathing glance at the websites. Until now.

He’s just determined that he is going to leave after all, that this is the stupidest idea he’s ever had, and that he doesn’t  _ actually want _ to go through with it anyway, when the buzzer chimes to alert him that his guest has arrived. He has a pen in hand, prepared to slip a politely vague apologetic note into the envelope of cash. He can’t imagine the boy will be all that disappointed - after all, what young man wouldn’t appreciate getting paid to take a night off.  But this is a high end apartment building with the latest security features - of course - and there he is in the little video monitor showing the front door. His shoulders are hunched up against the cold as he waits in a way that makes him look too small and far too young - or maybe that’s an effect of the small monitor embedded into the wall.

It isn’t too late. He could still send the boy away; should still send the boy away. He could go down to the street and give the lad the envelope. Or he could invite him up, but just for a cup of tea. Hell, Merlin could simply tell the lad to make himself comfortable if he wishes and then leave himself, it’s not as though there’s anything in the apartment that he cares about anyway. But…

Merlin catches himself staring at the little video screen for far too long. Long enough that the lad on the street starts shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably, glancing up and down the street. And Merlin can’t blame him; it’s not that the lad is poorly dressed or dirty, but it’s obvious at a glance that he doesn’t belong in this part of town, standing at the door of an apartment complex this expensive. 

Merlin pushes the button to let the lad in; he doesn’t even fully realize he’s done it until he hears the buzzer and the click of the lock on the front door opening. He watches the lad startle a little and then hastily grab the handle to pull the door open and step inside the building. Merlin takes three steps back away from the monitor, away from the front door, and the very small - so small, he’s worked so hard to repress it his whole life - irrational corner of his mind starts considering the window ledge and the distance to the drain pipe running down the side of the building that definitely won’t hold his weight anyway, there’s really no point in-

He takes a breath. Forces himself to focus. Puts away the pen - no note written - and pours himself a few fingers of scotch. His drink cart is as sleek and modern as the rest of the apartment, but unlike the rest of the place is far from minimalist. His glasses are fine crystal, and after a moment of consideration he pulls out a second one though he doesn’t pour anything into it yet. By the time the unit doorbell rings, Merlin has drained his glass, poured out a few more fingers, and collected himself. 

It still takes an inordinate amount of effort to cross the spacious living room, grasp the surprisingly cold knob, and open the door.

The lad has his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket - a hideous thing that the youth no doubt considers very fashion forward - and he has a ball cap pulled down low over his forehead - but at an off center angle, of course. For a second, just a second, the ghost of Harry’s horrified voice floats through Merlin’s mind, complaining about the  _ youth today _ as though Harry hadn’t had a big-hair-and-leather fad himself back in the ‘80s. It makes Merlin smile - as much as it makes his chest feel as though he’s been hit with a sledge hammer - and lends a degree of genuine warmth to his greeting as he invites the lad in.

“Eggsy, is it?” Merlin asks, even though he knows perfectly well that that’s what the lad prefers to be called.

“Yeah. And you’re Merlin?” There’s no trace of derision or confusion in his voice; Merlin supposes that Eggsy assumes it’s a pseudonym chosen specifically for this encounter. Perhaps Merlin should have given a different name, something bland and nondescript - he certainly has plenty of aliases that would hold up to any basic search that wouldn’t cause the lad to so much as raise an eyebrow. But he hadn’t. He’d given the name -  _ his  _ name - the one that Harry had always called him, the only one that has ever felt right, ever felt like it really belonged to him. It’s a small security risk, but Merlin doesn’t regret it.

Merlin nods. He turns his back on Eggsy - though he can still keep an eye on the lad in the mirror set over the drinks cart. “Would you like a drink?” he asks, tone mild, carefully not betraying his nervousness.

“Wouldn’t mind a glass of water,” Eggsy says. He’s examining a piece of Expressionist art on the wall, taking his time in following Merlin across the room. His posture is casual, shoulders relaxed and hands sunk deep into his pockets. He’s giving Merlin space, but still engaging him. It’s a good trick, designed to intrinsically put someone at ease, and increase their desire for Eggsy’s attention; Merlin wonders if Eggsy knows what he’s doing or if it’s an innate talent.

Honestly, Merlin finds himself a little bit surprised that the lad doesn’t accept the opportunity to try some of the array of top-shelf liquors Merlin has available. But, on the other hand, he supposes that Eggsy is on the job; maybe he doesn’t want his judgment clouded by alcohol, or maybe he’s worried about how well liquor hides the taste of rohypnol. Or maybe Merlin is paranoid and the lad is just feeling dehydrated. Merlin forces his paranoid curiosity aside and pours the lad a glass of cool sparkling water. 

He turns back toward the room, but hesitates, a glass in each hand, caught by uncertainty. Eggsy gives him a warm look, fully crossing the room to take the glass of sparkling water out of Merlin’s hand - their fingers brush and it  _ shouldn’t  _ feel like a shock, but it does. Distractedly, he stares at Eggsy’s full lips while the lad takes a drink, and Merlin tries to remember when the last time someone had actually touched him was. He thinks, probably, at least one of the other Knights had given him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder after the private Kingsman-only memorial for Harry - they hadn’t been able to have a proper funeral for Harry, not in the mess that came after the Massacre, but some of the boys had decided that a single somber drink wasn’t enough for the great Galahad. But try as he might, Merlin can’t remember for certain if anyone has touched him in the almost two years since then, and that’s disconcerting. 

“Nice place,” Eggsy observes, still casual, still giving Merlin space. He’s meandered over to the window, glancing out as he sips his drink. 

Merlin has a lie about his job on the tip of his tongue before he remembers that this isn’t a standard social interaction, that Eggsy is  _ decidedly _ not going to ask any personal questions about his life outside of this room, just as Merlin won’t ask Eggsy anything in return; it’s part of the contract. Not that Merlin needs to ask - he’d thoroughly vetted the lad before engaging him. He knows all about “Eggsy”, legal name: Gary Unwin , son of Lee (KIA nearly twenty years ago) and Michelle Unwin, younger half-sister Daisy; stepfather Dean (declared dead after the Massacre). Showed near prodigy-level talent for gymnastics at a young age, could have been on the Olympic team if he hadn’t quit. Joined the Marines, only to drop out midway through training. Has never - legally - held a job for longer than two months. As far as Merlin’s research had shown, the lad had started in his current profession a few months after the Massacre. 

Merlin could lie to himself, say that it’s just a strange coincidence that this lad had caught his eye - and well, that part wouldn’t be so much a lie, the lad had caught his eye, a photo on a discrete website for this sort of thing. Merlin’s never really considered himself as having a  _ type _ \- Harry, his type is Harry, his one and only has always been Harry, there’s never been anyone else who could even begin to compete for Merlin’s attention - but there’d been something about that strong jaw, those soft, deep eyes, the crooked tilt of his smile. It was the picture that had caught Merlin’s attention, those beautiful eyes that he’d come back to, every time he talked himself out of this and then been sucked back in again. But Merlin can’t afford to be careless; he has responsibilities, but with those responsibilities come power and skills that give him a distinct advantage over the average client. He’d learned everything about both “Eggsy” and “Gary Unwin”, and then it had been impossible to ignore, impossible to forget as soon as he’d read the line Father: Lee Unwin.

Maybe it’s twisted. Maybe it’s just another in a long list of reasons why he shouldn’t be doing this. But… Harry had never forgiven himself for Lee’s death - and, if he’s honest, neither has Merlin - and he’d just… he’d needed to meet the lad. He’s gone through a thousand excuse in his mind, as though this could count as “checking in”, as making sure that the lad is doing alright, as  _ helping _ him somehow - although, he supposes, the money he is going to give the lad one way or another can’t hurt.

Still, Merlin should definitely just hand over the money and go.

“I gotta say, you look better in person than you do in your picture,” Eggsy says, and there’s that crooked tilted smile, and it’s a cliche, cheesy line but there’s something about Eggsy that’s just so very  _ sincere _ .

“I’ve never photographed well,” Merlin finds himself responding, half joke but also full truth - in fact, he’s fairly certain that the picture he’d sent Eggsy in setting up their “affair” is the only extant picture of him, and he’d had to take it specifically for the application.

“I’m just saying, I came in here with pretty high expectations…” Eggsy lets his words trail off, voice positively oozing honey as his gaze lingering in a slow drag up Merlin’s body. 

Merlin  _ does not _ blush, because he is a grown man. But his stomach twists and flips in a way that is uncomfortable, bordering on unpleasant, and he has to turn away. Eggsy isn’t  _ lying _ , Merlin can tell that, the lad means his compliments sincerely, but the tone is affected, and a little too much. Merlin reaches for the scotch, intending to fill his glass again - it’s an instinct, just something to do with his hands, but he stops himself, deciding that he’s had enough, that he can’t risk being compromised, can’t risk getting sloppy.

“Sorry,” Eggsy says, and the honey gone, the sincerity back, just a normal, conversational - albeit contrite - tone. “Too much, huh?” 

Merlin can’t stop his gaze from flicking upward, assessing Eggsy’s reflection in the mirror mounted on the wall over the drink cart - the lad is fidgeting a bit, stopping just short of scuffing his foot against the floor, but that crooked smile is back and this time it’s shy. It makes the twisting in the pit of Merlin’s stomach settle just a bit, turning into something closer to a butterfly sensation - equally uncomfortable, but in an entirely different and much less painful way. “Just a bit,” Merlin admits. He drops two ice cubes into his glass and pours himself some sparkling water to match Eggsy’s before turning back to Eggsy. “I… I don’t do this,” he admits - and immediately regrets it, feeling horribly exposed. His fingers itch to reach for the envelope, to just be done, to get away. But if he does, he knows, he’ll just end up going to Harry’s house - it’s always been Harry’s house, always will be, despite the fact that they’d lived there together for the better part of twenty years. That house is a goddamn mausoleum now. Merlin doesn’t live there anymore, honestly he doesn’t really live anywhere any more, though he tends to sleep in one of the suites at the Kingsman Mansion - or, just as often, pass out at his desk unless one of his aides comes along to embarrass him into leaving his office.

But if he leaves here, if he sends Eggsy away, it’s Harry’s house where he’ll end up. He’ll just sit in the dark, surrounded by dead things - Mr. Pickle, Harry’s butterflies, the ghost of Harry himself conjured by Merlin’s desperately lonely mind - and then he really will drink too much. He’ll lose himself in the bottle and wake up colder and more alone than ever. It wouldn’t be here, in this too white, too clean apartment that had felt just as lifeless… until Eggsy waked in. 

Like a goddamn living ray of sunshine. God how Harry would laugh at him if he heard Merlin getting  _ poetic _ \- the very thing Merlin had loved to tease Harry about. But it’s true. Like somehow just by being in the room Eggsy has raised the temperature a couple of degrees and added a few extra watts to the lightbulbs. Like the air is somehow lighter, cleaner, easier to breathe.

Merlin is losing his goddamned mind.

“No worries,” Eggsy says with an easy shrug, but Merlin can see the questions in his eyes - don’t do what? Don’t sleep with men? Don’t order rent boys? Don’t have sex? Don’t interact with other human beings? Well, that last one is probably just Merlin projecting. “We can take it as slow as you want.”

Merlin snorts, ducking his head. “You are hourly, after all,” he mutters under his breath, and instantly regrets it. Eggsy’s face twists and Merlin knows he’s offended the lad. He hadn’t meant to, but he supposes Harry was right after all; Harry had always teased him that he’d forget how “normal human” interaction worked if he continued to avoid socialization - with people who are  _ not _ Harry, because Merlin had always hastened to pointed that he  _ socializes  _ with  _ Harry _ quite a bit, thank you very much. “Bugger,” he mutters, his hand lifting to rub the back of his neck before he can catch and stop the instinctive expression of embarrassment. “I didn’t mean-”   
  
“I know what you meant,” Eggsy cuts in, waving away Merlin’s attempt at apology as though it’s nothing, even though his smile has gone a little bit tight around the edges. “I’m not, anyway,” he adds with a shrug.

Merlin blinks. “What?”

“Hourly?” Eggsy gives him a look as though Merlin’s being thick - that is not a expression Merlin is used to being on the receiving end of, not for a very long time anyway. “It was in the paperwork. A house call gets you the nightly rate, however much of it you want to use.”

“Oh, right,” Merlin says, strangely relieved. Admittedly, he hadn’t paid as much attention to the money portion of the agreement he’d signed when he booked this appointment with Eggsy as he apparently should have - it isn’t as though money is much of an object for him, he’d been far more focused on the rest of the surprisingly extensive paperwork. Honestly, Merlin has conducted entire Kingsman missions - minor ones, but still - with less documentation involved. He’d had to give medical records, of course, proving he had no communicable diseases - that’s just good sense - and he’d received the same from Eggsy. There’d been whole sections about privacy and nondisclosure - also for both parties, which to Merlin was somewhat of a relief. He tries not to judge, but frankly the realization that Eggsy conducted his business in a way that was as safe, discreet, and secure both for himself and his clients as possible is distinctly reassuring. 

The final section had outlined a series of ground rules, most fairly basic, along with a list of  _ services _ \- ones that Eggsy does not provide under any circumstances, ones that he is willing to provide only under very specific circumstances (with safety measures taken), and ones that either require the provision of supplies or involve an additional fee. The list of Hard Nos had been… surprisingly short, but Merlin is trying not to dwell on it. It isn’t like he’s going to actually go through with the  _ sex _ anyway. And even if he was, he’s certainly not going to ask for anything… unusual. Not that he and Harry had never gotten creative in the bedroom, but this isn’t Harry he’s with, this is entirely different and he’s-

“Are you feeling alright?” Eggsy asks, his head tilted and god Merlin really is off his game. 

“Yes, of course,” Merlin says hastily, scrambling to pull himself together, to shove away the overwhelmingly distracting thoughts - the doubts, the echo of Harry, all the things that are both the reason why he got himself into this situation and at the same time exactly why he shouldn’t go through with it. He grits his teeth, willing himself to focus.

In the few beats of silence while Merlin internally struggles with himself, Eggsy takes a slow sip of his drink. “It’s normal, you know,” Eggsy says, breaking the silence before Merlin can even think of what to do next.

Merlin just blinks at him, deciding not to risk putting his foot further into his mouth this time and just wait for Eggsy to elaborate on his own.

“Being nervous,” Eggsy concludes. “A lot of people are, their first time.”

“I’m not a virgin,” Merlin blurts - good god, did he somehow accidentally drug  _ his own _ drink?

Eggsy laughs, a warm throaty sound that somehow includes Merlin in the humor rather than making him feel like it’s at his expense. “I didn’t think you were. But I reckon you’ve never paid for it before, yeah?”

“Right. That. No. I… I haven’t.” Merlin desperately wants more scotch, but he forces himself to put his glass down and walk away from it instead.

Eggsy seems to follow Merlin’s cue, and they end up sitting facing each other. Eggsy makes himself comfortable on the sleek chrome-and-white-leather chaise lounge while Merlin sits in the slightly too cubic-shaped chair with the glass coffee table between them. Merlin feels sort of like he should be sitting on the lounge with Eggsy, but he also can’t imagine himself actually doing it, so he stays put and contents himself to just watching Eggsy. A little too closely, if he’s honest, something about the way Eggsy’s fringe falls forward into his face, the almost ridiculous length of his eyelashes, where his lower lip is just a little too red and a little too plump from being chewed on.

Eggsy takes off his ball cap, tossing it down on the lounge beside him. He’s watching Merlin too, maybe just as closely as Merlin is watching him. Then Eggsy leans forward, setting his - still mostly full - glass down on the coffee table before bracing his elbows on his knees. He clasps his hands under his chin and it should look a little ridiculous, but somehow it doesn’t, somehow the position matches the warmth in his eyes as he stares levelly at Merlin. “Do you want to talk about what’s making you uncomfortable?” he asks plainly.

And Merlin appreciates that. He may be a spy who lives his life surrounded by - and pretty much exclusively interacting with - other spies, but at the end of the day Merlin really likes things that are simple and straightforward. The problem is, that is exactly what this situation isn’t. Inexplicably, Merlin finds himself wishing he has a ring to fiddle with; at least that would go a long way in answering the question for him. But he doesn’t have a ring - his and Harry’s marriage had technically only been legal because Merlin hacked into the registry to put it there, and with Harry in the field a ring would have been a practical impossibility. Merlin does have Harry’s old military ID tags, a gift that they have both laughed about for being stupidly cliche even though Harry had insisted on it and Merlin had subsequently worn them nearly every day; he isn’t wearing them now. As comforting as it would have been to have them around his neck and next to his heart where they belong, the part of him devoted to protecting Harry, to protecting Harry’s identity, that he hadn’t been able to risk even now with Harry too years dead and far beyond the reach of any further harm. So Merlin had left the tags behind, locking them in the secure wall safe in his own office at the Kingsman Mansion - the most secure and well protected place he knows.

Eggsy waits, looking so patient and earnest, as though Merlin could sit there in uncomfortable silence for the rest of the night and that would be just fine. Merlin can’t quite meet the lad’s eyes, but a quick glance is enough and all of a sudden something tight and painful in Merlin’s chest starts to unwind - just a little. It isn’t that Eggsy actually resembles Harry, not in any literal way, but Harry had always been so good at waiting Merlin out, at giving him that level stare and just… waiting until Merlin gave in to whatever it was Harry wanted.

“My husband,” Merlin starts. He has to pause, just for a second to make sure his voice won’t crack. Which is stupid. It isn’t like saying the words aloud will change anything, will make Harry any  _ more _ dead. “He died. During the Massacre.” It’s a small lie, but necessary, and it’s not like the details really matter. “I haven’t, uh… there’s been no one else.”

Eggsy nods, unsurprised; Merlin knows the statistics, chances are Eggsy’s had other clients in similar situations. Brief though it had been, Valentine’s Massacre had left a lot of widows and widowers all over the world, and London had been hit just as hard as any other major city. “Everyone grieves differently,” Eggsy says. If just about anyone else said that to him Merlin would have been tempted to slap them in the face, but not Eggsy, for some reason.

“I suppose you’ve heard plenty of sob stories since the Massacre,” Merlin says. Belatedly, he thinks that was unnecessary, maybe just a little bit nasty in some way. But Eggsy just nods, solemn and sincere.

“It’s been rough for a lot of people,” Eggsy agrees. He pauses, then starts stripping off his jacket. The polo shirt he’s wearing underneath follows and Merlin is treated to the sight of his bare, lean chest; a lot of lanky muscle with just a little bit of softness around the stomach. 

Merlin sits up straighter, catching himself just a second too late to stop the instinctive startle response.  _ That’s moving a bit quick- _ he’s about to say, but the words die in his throat when his eyes catch on a - frankly impressive - scar that skirts up along Eggsy’s rib cage and ends with what is undeniably a stab wound in the meat of his shoulder. Made by a big knife too, jagged and twisted in a way that says it had been far from a clean wound. The line running up the lad’s rib cage is just as jagged, and it isn’t hard to guess at the circumstances under which the injury had happened.

“My stepdad,” Eggsy says by way of explanation. Merlin is still just staring, almost mesmerized by the sharp contrast between pale peach flesh and the raised, reddish-purple star of scar tissue in the lad’s shoulder. Merlin’s seen plenty of scars in his lifetime - Harry had had more than his fair share, far more than Merlin liked - there’s nothing particularly special about this one, except that it’s on  _ Eggsy _ and that, for some reason, is a problem for Merlin. “During the Massacre. He went after my little sister and I got in the way.” There’s something in Eggsy’s eyes as he says that, a look that Merlin knows all too well - a look that he’d seen on Harry’s face as least every couple of months. It’s the look of a man who has killed a person and doesn’t regret it in the slightest.

Merlin wants to ask… he wants to ask so many things, surprisingly. He’d guessed that Eggsy had been responsible for his stepfather’s death during the Massacre - it hadn’t been hard to piece together, as soon as Merlin started looking into Eggsy’s life. He isn’t surprised the Eggsy doesn’t regret it either; frankly, Merlin probably would have done that bastard in long before Valentine started passing out his SIM cards. But Eggsy’s story implies that even with his control stripped away by Valentine’s insidious device, Eggsy had still  _ protected _ his younger sister - it’s not unheard of, there have been a handful of reports, mostly mothers protecting their children, but it was rare, extremely rare, and the fact that Eggsy had somehow managed it says quite a lot about the young man.

“Can I see it closer?” ends up being the question that comes out of Merlin’s mouth. He supposes that it is, objectively, the safest question to ask. After all, the mood is already sour enough with the grief Merlin can’t let go of, and the last thing Merlin wants to do is remind Eggsy of his own trauma.

Eggsy grins and pushes himself to the feet. He circles the coffee table and then perches carefully on the edge of it - Merlin can see the way the powerful muscles in Eggsy’s thighs bunch to avoid putting his full weight on the glass table even though it’s made of industrial material and could easily hold him. He’s close enough that his knees knock just slightly into Merlin’s as he leans forward to let Merlin have a closer look at the scar. From this angle, Merlin can see that the stab wound went all the way through the meat of Eggsy’s shoulder, an exit wound standing out sharply next to a small cluster of freckles just in between Eggsy’s collar and shoulder bones. The edges of the scars are puckers and jagged; clearly they hadn’t been professionally taken care of, causing them to heal crookedly.

“It’s an impressive scar,” Merlin murmurs, not entirely intending to say it aloud. But Eggsy grins, as though he’s proud of the mark, clearly taking Merlin’s words as a compliment. Impulsively, Merlin reaches out and grips Eggsy’s shoulder, turning him so that he can see the exit wound better. Eggsy’s skin is soft and smooth, sprinkled with a handful of freckles here and there and a mole or two, but the jagged scar is really the only mark on his otherwise unblemished skin. “I’m glad it wasn’t worse,” Merlin says, sincerely - Merlin would mean that sincerely with a lot of people, he isn’t a misanthrope, after all, but with Eggsy he means it  _ more _ despite the fact that he’d only met the lad all of twenty minutes ago.

Eggsy laughs, a soft huff of breath really. “Me too,” he agrees. He’s passive under Merlin’s grip, letting Merlin twist his shoulders this way and that, and then lift his arm to get a better look at the line going up his ribs, but Merlin can feel the strength contained in those lean muscles, knows that the lad could put up one hell of a fight if pushed. Merlin had liked that about Harry too, how lean he was, how unassuming he seemed on the surface; people always underestimated Harry until they saw him fight.

There’s a moment, a split second when Eggsy’s eyes flick up to meet Merlin’s. It’s a weird angle, Merlin is gripping Eggsy’s wrist, lifting his arm up over his head to trace the line of scarring along his ribs, and yet, Eggsy’s shoulders still twisted around to point the exit wound on his back in Merlin’s direct. But it doesn’t matter. In that split second, Merlin sees what’s coming, knows what he’s about to do even though he doesn’t quit believe it.

And then he does it. He leans in around Eggsy’s lifted arm and cranes his neck at a weird angle and kisses Eggsy.

Eggsy’s lips are as soft as his skin. His lips part easily, willingly to Merlin as he kisses back -  _ he  _ doesn’t seem surprised, for all that Merlin himself feels that the kiss is sudden. Eggsy drops his arm so that it wraps loosely around Merlin’s shoulders - Merlin doesn’t remember letting go of his wrist, but it doesn’t matter. Just when Merlin is about to break the kiss, to pull away, to-... he isn’t even sure what, Eggsy shifts. Those strong thighs flex and Eggsy is no longer sitting on the coffee table but is instead sliding into Merlin’s lap, his legs stradling Merlin easily. He still has one arm draped around Merlin’s shoulders, but the other comes up to brush against Merlin’s cheek. It’s distracting - Eggsy’s fingers aren’t as smooth as the rest of him, slightly roughened by calluses that catch on the slight stubble growing in on Merlin’s cheeks. He doesn’t grip Merlin’s face, doesn’t grab, nothing so demanding; it’s just a gentle brush of fingertips, slow and gentle over the curve of Merlin’s cheekbone.

Merlin’s pretty sure that’s what breaks him. Not the lithe body pressing up against his chest, not the strange lips or the unfamiliar taste invading his mouth, but the gentleness. Like Merlin is something delicate. Something precious.

Merlin breaks the kiss; it’s all he can do not to stand up and just dump Eggsy on the floor. It isn’t Eggsy’s  _ fault _ , he knows that. Eggsy is just doing his job, just doing the thing that Merlin brought him here to do. It isn’t Eggsy’s fault that Merlin isn’t ready for it, that Merlin is broken.

Eggsy isn’t put off, however. In fact, he hardly seems to notice, shifting easy as Merlin pulls away from the kiss. Somehow Eggsy slides off of Merlin’s lap in a shockingly smooth movement, landing on his knees between Merlin’s legs. 

Merlin freezes. He should tell Eggsy to stop, should say he’s changed his mind, should-

Eggsy’s hands are resting on the tops of Merlin’s thighs and he’s looking up at Merlin with a soft, cheerful look. He settles himself more comfortably, urging Merlin’s legs a little wider as he leans in. It’s hard to meet Eggsy’s eyes, and yet Merlin can’t look away, feeling a little as though he’s being sucked into a gravitational pull, something intimate and inexplicable in the way that Eggsy’s smile spreads across his entire face. Then Eggsy is leaning in, no rush to it, seemingly no real intent at first, just a soft nuzzle, a slow drag of Eggsy’s cheek and lips up the line of Merlin’s inseam. Eggsy’s hands are kneading the tops of Merlin’s thighs absently as he goes, slow and soothing.

Merlin makes an undignified sound when Eggsy starts to tongue at him through the fabric of his trousers. It’s a strange sensation, mostly a light pressure, but Eggsy’s hands are traveling upward, clearly intent on Merlin’s belt to give himself better access. Part of Merlin is still inclined toward putting a stop to this but… but it does feel good. And it’s been so very long since that last night before Harry left for Kentucky, and Eggsy makes an obscene sound in his throat that distracts Merlin enough to banish all thoughts of pushing the lad away.

Eggsy’s fingers are quick and clever, making short work of Merlin’s belt and zipper. The air feels almost shockingly cold it touches Merlin’s cock and he finds himself sucking in a sharp breath, his head falling back slightly. Eggsy wastes no time, trailing a slow line of kisses from the base of Merlin’s cock all the way to the tip before wrapping his lips around Merlin and starting to suckle.

Merlin can only stare, his hands clenched into fists on the armrests of his chair. For some reason it’s Eggsy’s hair that Merlin focuses on as he stares down; he’s so blond. Harry had gone from ginger to chestnut to the beginnings of gray in their time together, but he’d never been blond. That absolutely isn’t what Merlin should be thinking right now, and yet-

It’s nice. Eggsy’s lips are soft, his mouth warm and tight around Merlin as he sucks. He closes his eyes, breathing in deeply through his nose; maybe… maybe if he just pretends… He loses track of time, just breathing deeply and letting himself feel the soft, wet heat enveloping his cock, the clever tongue curling around him. Coaxing. Encouraging. It feels good, comfortable, Harry had always loved giving head. But Merlin can’t… it won’t… 

“Stop,” Merlin gasps. He hadn’t realized that at some point he’d started holding his breath until his voice comes out so choked and cracked. His hands move of their own accord, grabbing Eggsy’s shoulders and pushing him away, a little more roughly than he’d intended. Eggsy falls back, Merlin’s adamantly limp cock slipping from between Eggsy’s open lips as he just barely catches himself before he hits the table. “I’m sorry. I can’t.” Merlin shakes his head. He wants to get up, wants to leave, wants to shove the envelope of cash into Eggsy’s hands and flee; but Eggsy is in the way, thrown slightly off balance but still kneeling between Merlin’s legs, too close, keeping him trapped.

Eggsy’s eyes are wide now as he looks up at Merlin, a little worried, a little offended. He opens his mouth but closes it again without saying anything, and for the first time since he’d entered the apartment the lad looks fully as young as he is, his facade of confidence cracked by Merlin’s rejection. Merlin is again caught between looking at the lad’s face and looking  _ anywhere but _ , consequently his eyes land on the chain and pendant around Eggsy’s neck - frankly, it should have been the first thing to draw Merlin’s attention as soon as the lad had taken his shirt off, that all too familiar symbol dangling innocuously from Eggsy’s neck. It’s been at least twenty years since Harry touched that small bit of metal and paint, but Merlin could swear he can still see the ghost of Harry’s presence hovering around it, can still feel-

“I’m sorry,” Merlin says again - helplessly, stupidly, what good can apologizing even do? In lieu of an escape route, Merlin buries his face in his hands, sinking deeper into his chair as though it could absorb him entirely. “I should never have brought you here,” he mutters, the words muffled by his own fingers. “The money is on the drink cart, you can just-” Merlin doesn’t expect to need to finish the sentence; he fully expects Eggsy to all but jump to his feet, grab the cash, and run. Merlin wouldn’t blame the lad if he did.

Except a minute passes and Eggsy is still there. Merlin can feel him shift on his knees, resettling himself so that he’s balanced between Merlin’s knees again. “Hey,” Eggsy says, his voice soft but insistent. His hand is on Merlin’s knee again, but he’s not going anywhere, just rubbing slow, gentle circles; Merlin has to consciously stop himself from unnecessarily clenching his muscles, to force himself to relax, and admittedly Eggsy’s touch is helping a little. “It’s okay,” Eggsy insists; part of Merlin wants to feel offended, but there’s nothing condescending in Eggsy’s tone, it’s like he really means it, like he really isn’t judging Merlin for not being able to get it up.

Still, shame curls in the pit of Merlin’s stomach. He should have known better than to even try this stupid plan. When Merlin had told Eggsy earlier that there hadn’t been anyone besides Harry, he hadn’t just meant  _ since _ Harry. He’d tried, exactly twice, in university, once with a girl and once with a boy, just to see. He’d had scientific intentions - just to prove to himself, conclusively, that he wasn’t like other people - but he’d called an end to both interactions before so much as a button had been undone. It just hadn’t interested him, not until Harry; a lot of things hadn’t interested him until Harry. He should have known better than to think he’d be able to get it up for anyone else.

Eggsy still hasn’t moved. He’s still rubbing those gentle little circles, his hands having moved down as though to massage Merlin’s calves now.  “There are other ways to do it,” Eggsy says with a shrug and an easy smile - too easy, too gentle.

“I hardly think that’s going to make a difference,” Merlin says, his voice bordering on acerbic; he desperately wishes the lad would just go away.

“I don’t mean another position,” Eggsy clarifies with a laugh and a shake of his head - how he manages to not be laughing  _ at  _ Merlin is baffling, but the squirming in the pit of Merlin’s stomach settles just a little. “Although-” he tilts his head, considering, but then shrugs and shakes his head. “What I meant is,  _ that _ -” Eggsy nods toward Merlin’s still exposed cock, hanging limp and useless against his rumpled trousers- “doesn’t have to get involved at all. When was the last time you had a good cuddle?”

Merlin blinks. “You can’t be serious,” he snorts.

“I can and I am!” Eggsy protests, as though  _ that _ has offended him for some reason. “You know, sensual non-sexual touch is just as important as orgasms.”

And… Merlin starts laughing. It’s almost like Eggsy is daring Merlin to argue with him, his square jaw jutting out stubbornly, his eyes lively and sharp as he stares Merlin down. It’s… well, frankly, it’s sort of adorable.

“Oi!” Eggsy protests, feistier than ever. He stops rubbing gentle circles on the back of Merlin’s calf to shove at his leg instead, but it’s a light, playfully movement and the corners of Eggsy’s lips are twitching in a losing battle against his own laughter. 

It’s an impulse, a stupid, insane impulse, but Merlin can’t resist gripping Eggsy’s chin and leaning down to steal a chaste kiss. Eggsy breaks, huffing a little laugh into Merlin’s mouth and it’s almost unbearably sweet. The lad’s eyes are sparkling fit to light up the goddamn room when Merlin releases him, and he’s looking more than a little pleased with himself.

“Come on,” Eggsy urges gently, his voice mostly whisper. “Just give me a try, yeah? We’ll get a little more comfortable and see how it goes. I’ll let you be the little spoon if you want?” he wiggles his eyebrow, clearly inviting Merlin into the joke. Then he gets serious again, though his smile doesn’t dim, “give me five minutes, and if you still want me to go, no harm no foul, right?”

Merlin swallows, feeling absurdly as though he’s about to make a much bigger decision than it actually is. “Five minutes,” he reiterates.

Eggsy grins, bright and triumphant, and rocks back on the balls of his feet before rolling smoothly all the way up. “Just five minutes,” he agrees, holding out his hands to Merlin, “but I’m pretty sure I can change your mind.”

Merlin huffs and shakes his head, but he accepts Eggsy’s extended hands, letting the lad pull him upright. Eggsy keeps a grip on one of Merlin’s hands as he turns unerringly toward the bedroom - it catches Merlin off guard for a moment, before he remembers that his stalling earlier had undoubtedly given Eggsy plenty of time to scope out the apartment.

The bedroom is just as sterile and impersonal as the rest of the apartment, but the bed is big and the sheets are soft. Massive windows take up the entire far wall, the thick tinted glass giving them an impressive but private view over the city. It’s a stark contrast to the slightly cramped bedroom in Harry’s row house, full of heavy wooden furniture and with only one small window overlooking the back garden - which Harry had never bothered to do anything with, leaving it overrun with weeds. But maybe that’s for the best.

Eggsy leads Merlin to the middle of the room and stops, only dropping Merlin’s hand as he turns to look at him with that cheerful, eager grin. Eggsy wastes no time in starting to kick off his sneakers, hopping precariously on one foot and then the other as he follows suit with his socks. It’s ridiculous, and yet adorable in such a way that it makes Merlin chuckle, just a little bit. Eggsy just grins, unabashed and thoroughly unrepentant. “Dawdle all you want, but the five minutes don’t start until we’re in the bed,” he says.

Merlin rolls his eyes, but at the same time he becomes aware of the fact that he’s standing there while his cock dangling out of his fly, otherwise still fully dressed and no doubt looking three times as ridiculous as Eggsy does. So he heels off his own shoes, taking the more dignified option of perching on edge of the vanity table for balance as he takes off his socks. Then he shucks off his pants - it feels silly to still be wearing his shirt and sweater, but it isn’t like he has any modesty left to preserve. Frankly, being fully nude somehow feels  _ less _ exposed than standing around with his cock dangling out through his fly. 

When Merlin pulls his sweater and the shift he’s got on under it off, he can’t help but to notice the way Eggsy stops, his eyes going a little wide as he takes in Merlin’s chest. “You’re fucking ripped,” Eggsy exclaims, his expression one of pure, unaffected delight that Merlin finds far more flattering than he should. He’s never cared much about his own appearance, maintaining a rigorous fitness routine purely out of practicality; well, seventy percent practicality, the other thirty percent came from the satisfaction of going several sweaty rounds of sparring with Harry whenever they had the chance.

Merlin arches an eyebrow at Eggsy, giving him the unimpressed, mildly chastising expression that always gets him good results when he’s training new Candidates. It takes less than three seconds before Eggsy is blushing from the tips of his ears down to his naval - an even  _ better _ result than he usually gets from the Candidates. 

“I didn’t mean-” Eggsy fumbles, “I just… it’s not like I’m  _ surprised _ , you know, I just didn’t expect-”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” Merlin says, putting the lad out of his misery.

“You should. Definitely, you should that,” Eggsy agrees, his head bobbing up and down enthusiastically. “It is a compliment, for sure.”

“Thank you,” Merlin says mildly. He gives Eggsy’s jeans a pointed look and a raised eyebrow, “I believe it’s your turn,” he points out.

“What?” Eggsy blinks, then glances down at himself. “Oh, yeah, right.” He shucks off his jeans without making a fuss, putting no show into it, which Merlin appreciates for some reason. Then they’re just there, the two of them, naked and with nothing to hide; the rest of Eggsy matches up with his top half, no real surprises there. He’s equally fit all over, though Merlin can’t help but to notice how obviously powerful Eggsy’s thighs are - he’d noticed that even before the lad had removed his pants - and while the young man may have given up his formal gymnastics training at far too young of an age, Merlin suspects he’s still found a way to maintain his skills somehow.

Eggsy strikes a pose, his legs braced wide and hands on his hips. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he says, his voice light and teasing as he smirks at Merlin. 

Merlin just shakes his head, trying half heartedly to hide a smile. It’s dizzying, honestly. It isn’t as though Merlin’s life has been utterly humorless for the past year - that isn’t how life works, no matter how badly a person is grieving. There’s been moments; he smiles when one of the agents or support staff makes a joke. Ms. Morton, as she increasingly settles into her new role as a fully fledged Knight has proven almost annoyingly good at reaching Merlin’s sense of humor, especially as she stops thinking of Merlin as her teacher and sees him more as her colleague. But still, it’s not been like this, where he almost feels like he’s smiling  _ too much _ and there’s a pressure in his chest not unlike a helium balloon pushing against his ribs.

Eggsy apparently takes Merlin’s expression as tacit agreement. He drops his pose, moving over to the bed and literally jumping into it, starfishing out and almost seeming to get swallowed up by the thick, down duvet. “You coming?” he asks. He rolls over onto his side, propping his cheek on his hand and crooking one leg in a pose that Merlin knows is traditionally supposed to be seductive, but the way Eggsy does it makes it a joke, a joke that he’s inviting Merlin to share.

“Not with you hogging up the whole bed like that,” Merlin says, sucked into Eggsy’s light hearted banter whether he likes it or not. But he’s also hesitating, knots twisting in the pit of his stomach again; is he really about to get in bed with another man? A man who  _ isn’t _ Harry?

Eggsy doesn’t seem to notice Merlin’s hesitation - or maybe he does and that’s the whole point - but he rolls back onto his back with an exaggerated groan, and then makes a show of wiggling around until he’s managed to get himself under the duvet and only taking up a respectable three-fifths of the bed. He then holds up the edge of the duvet on the open side of the bed with inviting but pointedly raised eyebrows. “Buckle up, cowboy. I'm gonna cuddle the shit out you,” he says with the biggest shit-eating grin yet.

Merlin, whose legs had been propelling him toward the bed almost automatically, stops short. He’s right at the edge of the bed, his bare knees bumping up against the cool chrome that makes up the bed frame. “What did you just say to me?” he asks incredulously.

Eggsy expression flickers, just a split second of doubt, but then he doubles down, all enthusiasm and bravado. “You heard me,” he insists, patting the mattress beside him for emphasis. “Lay down and spoon up!”

Merlin… Merlin does lay down, because he doesn’t know what else to do with that and he’s one ridiculous blonde eyebrow wiggle away from having a hysterical fit. So he lays down, taking the duvet from Eggsy and making sure that it’s wrapped securely around them both - it isn’t really necessary, the apartment is warm enough, but it’s a reassuring weight, soft and cozy against his skin. “I’m big spoon,” he says firmly, nudging at Eggsy’s shoulder to get the lad to roll over.

Eggsy complies without complaint, rolling over onto his other side so that his back is to Merlin. He settles in, shoving a pillow under his head and making a soft contented noise. “These are real quality sheets,” he observes, casual as anything. His light heartedness and good humor isn’t gone, but it’s… calmed, as though by settling into the bed he’s also settled his mood into something quieter, softer.

And now there’s nothing for it. Merlin hesitates, the scant half meter of space between them suddenly seeming an impossible chasm. It had been so easy to touch Eggsy earlier, under the guise of examining his scar, but Merlin can’t see the scar now, not with the duvet draped over Eggsy’s shoulder. All he can see is the pale, creamy stretch that is the back of Eggsy’s neck still ornamented by the golden chain, and suddenly it seems  _ too  _ soft, too pure, as though touching him might somehow soil Eggsy. Which is a stupid thing to think, but Merlin knows it’s coming from the twisted, self-sabotaging part of his own mind that still wants to grab his pants and run.

Two full minutes pass and Eggsy shifts, lifting his head to glance back over his shoulder at Merlin. “You okay?” he asks, and he’s all open sincerity again.

Merlin isn’t. But then again, he hasn’t really been okay since Harry got on that plane for Kentucky. But Merlin is stubborn if nothing else, and he embraces the part of himself that instinctively feels challenged rather than invited. “Fine,” he lies. But it’s enough, just barely enough to push Merlin into scooting across the bed until he can slide an arm around Eggsy’s waist, pulling Eggsy in until his back is flush against Merlin’s chest. 

It’s an almost overwhelming sensation, like a missed step in a stairwell as Merlin’s nerve endings light up from shoulder to thigh in response to Eggsy’s bare skin against his own. Merlin’s chest goes tight, too tight to breathe, and then a few seconds later it releases all at once in a great shuddering exhalation. 

Eggsy just makes a soft humming sound and settles back down. “It’s a great view,” he observes, position perfectly so that he can stare across the room and out through the large window taking up most of the far wall. “Must cost a fortune.” Merlin doesn’t respond, and Eggsy seems to get the idea that Merlin isn’t in the mood for chatter, so he too goes quiet.

It’s hard not to fidget, hard not to be obsessively aware of every inch of his body, every bit of contact between himself and Eggsy. At first his arm doesn’t seem to be wrapped far enough around Eggsy’s waist, resting loosely just past the curve of his hip, but then Merlin shifts and he has the opposite problem, his arm looped too loose and his hand flopping awkwardly on the mattress in front of Eggsy. Even worse, Merlin has no idea what to do with his other arm; Harry had always wanted to be held, tight and secure, both of Merlin’s arms around him as much as possible. And Merlin had provided it, ignoring the way his arm fell asleep - or, depending on Harry’s mood, griping playfully about it - happy to give Harry whatever he needed.

Harry  _ loved _ to be spooned. He’d always been incredibly tactile; even back in the days when their relationship wasn’t safe, when they’d had to be careful, he’d still found ways to steal private moments, soft brushes of skin on skin. But at home, when they were alone, Harry  _ always _ wanted to be held. Like a damn cat, he’d always find some way to drape himself across Merlin’s lap or otherwise insinuate himself into Merlin’s personal space. Some days, especially after a particularly hard mission, Merlin would settle himself into their bed with his laptop and Harry would curl up with his head in Merlin’s lap, nuzzling his face into Merlin’s stomach and generally distracting him as much as possible until Merlin gave up on work and put aside his laptop to wrap himself around Harry. And somehow, Merlin had never minded. He would never have tolerated that kind of personal space invasion from someone else. But Harry was different, was special in every way, somehow the exception to every rule Merlin had.

Merlin’s crying. He only realizes it when a tear drips off of the end of his nose and lands on the back of Eggsy’s neck, startling them both.

“Merlin?” Eggsy asks. His voice has gone very soft and so very gentle, almost like he’s talking to a spooked animal. And he doesn’t move, holding carefully very still.

For a second Merlin just  _ can’t _ . His eyes close, squeezing shut so tightly that he sees starbursts behind his eyelids, though it does nothing to stem the now steadily flowing tide of tears. His arm tightens compulsively around Eggsy’s waist, as though if he just keeps his eyes closed and holds on tight enough the body next to him will somehow magically transform into his dead husband.

But it isn’t going to happen. Harry isn’t here. Harry is never going to be here again. Eggsy is shorter and broader than Harry had ever been, his skin softer; Harry had already had a fairly impressive array of minor scars when he and Merlin had started sleeping together, souvenirs from his time in the military.

“Hey.” Eggsy’s voice is still soft, but suddenly it’s much closer. Without Merlin noticing the younger man has rolled over so that they’re face to face, his hands moving to cup Merlin’s face. His thumbs rub Merlin’s cheeks, catching slightly on the evening stubble beginning to grow there as he tries to wipe away the tears that are now positively flooding down Merlin’s face.

Merlin can’t answer. There’s a hoarse sob stuck in his throat and he’s fairly certain that if he lets it out it will tear his chest open and leave him irreversibly exposed. The urge to run is back, but he’s lost track of his body, lost track of everything but the gaping, festering grief filling up his ribcage.

It’s only when Eggsy’s arms wrap around him that he even remembers he  _ has _ a body, Eggsy managing to wiggle one arm under Merlin to hug him full bodied. Eggsy even drapes a leg over Merlin’s hip, as though if Eggsy manages to get every one of his limbs around Merlin that will fix things. And, well, it doesn’t seem to hurt. Merlin is still crying, sobbing uncontrollably; it’s silent, the sounds still caught jaggedly in his throat, but his whole body shakes with the force of it. And Eggsy just holds on, all wrapped around Merlin as though he can hold Merlin together by sheer force of will. 

Merlin has no idea how long it lasts. It isn’t the first time he’s cried over Harry - he hadn’t, not for first few months. At first there simply hadn’t been time, there had been Valentine to stop and then a world in pieces to clean up. It had been four months before things calmed down enough for Merlin to even really process what had happened; four months before the new Arthur insisted that they start the Candidacy process for the new Galahad. That night Merlin had gone to Harry’s house and drank every ounce of alcohol he could find. He’d sobbed himself into a blackout and stayed hungover for the next three days; it had been the first, but not the last time he’d found himself drunk and fall apart on the bathroom floor while Mr. Pickle stared down at him with pitiless glass eyes. But this is the first time he’s let anyone  _ see _ . The first time he’d exposed more than a grim, dignified acknowledgement of his loss in the presence of another - living - creature. Better that it’s a stranger, he supposes, someone he never has to see again after this terrible mistake of a night.

When the tide of tears finally peters off, Merlin realizes that their positions have been reversed. Now  _ he  _ is the one being spooned while Eggsy has one arm draped over Merlin, his fingers splayed wide as he rubs slow, soothing circles over Merlin’s stomach, Eggsy’s other arm pillowing Merlin’s head, fingers stroking lightly over the curve of Merlin’s collarbone. Eggsy isn’t  _ saying _ anything, but he’s making low, soothing sounds, and his face is pressed in against the back of Merlin’s head, his nose just barely brushing against the shell of Merlin’s ear.

It’s… nice.

Or maybe Merlin is just too exhausted from his crying fit to feel weird about it any more. Either way, the moment holds, Merlin too worn out to move, Eggsy’s soothing sounds dying out until silence stretches between them broken only by Merlin’s congested sniffles. Merlin feels as though he should speak, should apologise for his meltdown - even though he’s certain Eggsy would brush such an apology aside as unnecessary, it doesn’t help the sense of shame and embarrassment curling in the pit of Merlin’s stomach. And anyway, Merlin isn’t sure he has the voice left to speak, his throat too raw and sore from his fit.

Merlin has no idea how long they stay like that. Eggsy stays put, fingers occasionally stroking tiny, absent minded patterns across Merlin’s skin, his nose burrowed into the back of Merlin’s neck. Merlin himself simply… exists, feeling somehow at once as though he’s swollen and someway and yet floating, his head aching and congested, his eyes staring glassily at the far wall. The silence stretches, and it seems to have a physical weight, not unlike a second blanket pressing down over them, but it isn’t unpleasant. 

“His name was Harry.” Merlin almost startles at the sound of his own voice; he certainly hadn’t  _ intended _ to speak. He feels Eggsy shift slightly behind him, almost as though the lad had been falling asleep and Merlin’s words roused him. There’s a pause, a beat of silence during which the words hang in the air above them and Merlin can practically feel Eggsy mentally scrambling for a response. “He was…” Merlin stops. He hardly feels as though he’s the one actually speaking, even though it’s his voice putting them in the air. How is he even supposed to finish that sentence? How is he supposed to boil all that Harry is- was into a few measly words.

“It’s good you had him,” Eggsy says, after the silence has fallen over them again long enough to make it evident that Merlin is running short on words. It’s such an awkward thing to say, hardly adequate, barely more than a platitude, and yet… it’s  _ Eggsy _ saying it, and somehow that gives it more meaning than anything else could have. Merlin just swallows and against the lump in his throat and nods.

Suddenly Merlin can’t lay still any more, a sort of restless pulse going through his body and he rolls over onto his back. It’s a bit tricky, requiring a bit of shifting about so he doesn’t end up squashing on top of Eggsy. Eggsy doesn’t withdraw his arm from under Merlin’s head, though he certainly has the chance to, instead he simply adjusts with Merlin, giving him the space to lay flat but not pulling away. When all is done and Merlin allows himself to settle again, they’re shoulder to shoulder, with Eggsy’s arm pillowing the back of Merlin’s neck and his hand resting lightly on Merlin’s far shoulder. Eggsy isn’t quite lying flat, instead taking a sort of three-quarters pose with his attention focused on Merlin; attentive, waiting almost.

“Why are you doing this?” Merlin asks, and god it’s like he’s been possessed. What is it about this young man that has so thoroughly stripped him of control over his mouth? God help them all if Eggsy starts asking about dangerous international secrets.

Eggys blinks, his eyebrows wrinkling in confusion. “What do you mean?” he asks, his accent condensing the words together in a way that is surprisingly charming.

“I mean this… this job. You’re-” Merlin first fumbles, then stops, just barely catching himself before he could accidentally reveal just how much he knows about this supposedly anonymous stranger. “Surely, you have other options to make money,” he finishes, a bit lamely. And it isn’t that he means to insult the lad; everything about this encounter, about the way Eggsy seems to conduct his business is far from the seedy reputation the word ‘prostitute’ tends to imply. It’s just that he means what he said, certainly the lad could do something else if he wanted to. There are plenty of available jobs in the aftermath of the population cull that the V-Day Massacre was, and even if Merlin hadn’t thoroughly researched the lad’s background, just from the few hours they’ve spent together he knows that Eggsy is exceedingly bright and charming.

Eggsy is quiet for a long, drawn out moment. Long enough that Merlin starts opening his mouth to apologise -  _ again _ , he really does have a knack for putting his foot in his mouth tonight, maybe Harry was right about Merlin forgetting how to interact with humans after all. “I like it,” Eggsy says eventually, and it would have sounded flippant if he hadn’t paused so long to think about it first. “Maybe it’s stupid, but… it feels like I’m helping people, doing this.” His voice has gone a bit self conscious, his eyes fixed somewhere in the region of Merlin’s navel - Merlin knows this, knows that habitual preface to his words telling people to discount them before they’re even spoken. “It’s just that, that thing I said before, about how touching - sexual or not - is important for people, that’s true. By doing this, I can give that to people. Without… judgment or anything else that makes it so hard the rest of the time. At least, I try to.”

“That isn’t stupid,” Merlin says, because it definitively is  _ not _ , but also because Merlin feels a sort of protective compulsion to dispel that self-conscious put-down. In truth, it’s sort of beautiful, but Merlin is too self-conscious himself to stay that aloud, so he hopes that the tone of his voice alone is convincing enough.

Eggsy shrugs, as though embarrassed but also a little pleased. “I like helping people feel good, if I can. Or better, at least, than they did before spending time with me. You were right before too, a lot of people are grieving, and even besides that, there are things - intimate things - that some people just have a hard time getting without paying for it.” Eggsy goes quiet for a moment, his free hand - the one not pinned under Merlin’s neck - toying distractedly with the edge of the duvet where it’s slipped down around their waists. Then Eggsy glances back up at Merlin, and the smile on his lips isn’t disingenuine, but it a little bit forced as he adds, “besides, I usually get to have my fun too. And it’s good money, better than a lot of nine to fives.”

Merlin huffs a little laugh, since clearly that last part was intended to lighten the mood. Merlin does feel lighter; the weight of his grief isn’t gone, he has a feeling it will never truly be gone, but it has settled in a way, somehow less oppressive, less consuming. He catches himself staring at Eggsy’s lips, looking red and swollen as though he’s been chewing at them. On an impulse, Merlin catches himself leaning up to press a kiss to those lips, a little sloppy, a little too clumsy in the aftermath of his emotional breakdown.

Eggsy makes a slightly startled sound, but he leans into the kiss. There’s no real intent to it; Eggsy makes no attempt to push for more than a kiss this time, seemingly content to curl against Merlin’s body and lean into the kiss. It’s strangely comfortable, for all that they’ve technically only known each other for a few hours. Merlin lets himself lean into it for a while - his cock is no more interested in rising to the occasion than it was before, but that feels okay now, it’s enough just to lay with Eggsy, touching and kissing lazily.

Merlin feels himself settle, heavy and exhausted. Eggsy’s body is warm and soft beside him and they end up gravitating closer to each other, laying pressed close together. Merlin’s hand finds its way to Eggsy’s hip, thumb stroking over soft skin, his other hand carding absently through Eggsy’s hair. It’s nice, calm and soothing. So soothing, in fact, that later Merlin can’t quite remember when or how he fell asleep. He only remembers the hazy of comfort and warmth unlike anything he’s felt since Harry’s death that carried him into a deep, dreamless sleep.

***

Merlin wakes to the bright, morning sunlight pouring in through the massive bedroom window. The bedding around him is in absolute disarray, Merlin himself on his stomach, sprawled across the bed at an odd angle with his arms curled around a pillow. His head still feels hazy and muddled, his eyes aching slightly and mouth dry. But he feels warm, loose and relaxed in a way that’s almost foreign after so long of tension, stress, and desperate loneliness. 

For the first time in as long as he can remember, he feels no urge to get up and rush back to work. A part of him wants to linger here, comfortable in the soft bed, bathed in the early morning sunlight. 

Except… it occurs to him, eventually filtering in through his sleepy mind, that he’s alone. The realization causes him to startled partially upright, blinking around blurrily in search of Eggsy. But the lad is gone. Even as Merlin stumbles to his feet, trying to rub the last of the sleep from his eyes and makes his way through the apartment everything seems empty and untouched as it was before, except for the small pile of his own clothes on the bedroom clothes and the two still partially full glasses sitting on the coffee table in the living room.

Next to the glasses, placed precisely on the smooth surface on the coffee table, is a folded note with  _ Merlin _ written in a neat, careful hand. Inside the note, in the same hand, is simply written the words  _ Call me _ , accompanied by a jaunty little smiley face and a phone number.

Merlin finds himself smiling, just a little bit, as he goes about cleaning up and getting ready for the day. 

 

  
  



End file.
